For the Wages of Suffering is Beauty
by Raven Sinead
Summary: The world is splitting asunder. The sky itself has been torn open. The hearts of the powerful are bleeding and that blood drowns the innocent. But we must believe that this world is worth saving. We must believe that our pain is not for nothing. We have to fight, for that is all some of us know to do. DA:Inquistion. Feat. Salem Cousland/Leliana, F!Trev/Cassandra. Multiple POV fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings belong to EA and BioWare. I own nothing.

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Hello all of you wonderful people! This is a continuation of my Dragon Age series starring Salem and Leliana. There will be familiar characters all through this story, which will be a multiple first person POV adventure, and some new friends. Also, this chapter begins with smut…just thought I'd warn you. It's got an M rating for a reason. Also, to those who are reading my "This Side" Mass Effect series, the third one is_ _ **not**_ _abandoned. My muse decided to kickstart it, then give me nothing. The depression I was going through didn't help. Regardless, it's just on hold while I work on some Dragon Age. In any case, I'll leave you alone. On to the story!_

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Ostwick**

 **Trevelyan**

The woman beneath me writhed and I drank down her moans like the sweetest of meads. I wished I had mead, but this for shite bar had nothing but whiskey, grog, and something I was certain the barkeep brewed in a metal tub. Acid, perhaps. It did not matter. What mattered was the woman beneath me and the man behind me and the utter abandonment of thought. I was thinking too much as it was.

I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the bottle of the inn's best whiskey. It was still swill, but it was what the people could get smuggled in. Clutching the bottle, I kissed my way down my partner's neck, savoring her hitched breaths, her breasts rising and falling, her screams as I took her nipples between my lips and teeth, one after the other in quick succession, until she was nothing but a mess of sweat and desperation beneath me.

I smiled down at her. She was gorgeous, made even more beautiful by the fact that she was here, with me, naked and vulnerable, and I did not even know her name. I did not know his name either, but that mattered even less. We were here to spend a night in bliss and forgetfulness and fucking the worries of the world away in the most literal of fashions.

"I presume I'm allowed to join at some point?" The man behind me said, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

The woman beneath me was his, and I wondered if he enjoyed watching her ravaged by another. Whether he did or not, it did not matter. He would have his pleasure soon enough. I would make certain of that. While I preferred the bodies of women, I found that those near me were incapable of the innate roughness and primal drive of men, and I truly did enjoy being fucked into oblivion. Oblivion was better than the now, than the worthless waste of my life, of waking up each day in chains and hearing my name screeched over and over with slurs and insults and curses.

One could only endure that torment for so long.

I rose, reluctant, from my partner's breasts, looking into hazel eyes flecked at the center with the brightest of greens. "You are _truly_ lovely," I told her, finding that the words released something in me as well, a contentment and a peace that I could find nowhere but here, naked and free and _away_.

Languid and slow, I kissed my way down her body, loving how her muscles rippled beneath the assault of my lips and tongue and teeth. At last, I reached what I sought, the fragrant center of pleasure and passion and, for me, for a perfect moment, peace.

 _It's the only time you do something_ _ **right**_ _,_ my thoughts rang in my head, condemnatory and cruel, echoing the intonations of my mother. I drove them from my mind and lifted the bottle of whiskey, asking her a question with raised eyebrows and lascivious smile.

She laughed and nodded her assent, her beautiful golden hair swaying with the motion, blanketing the pillow with the light of the sun. I tipped the bottle, pouring the alcohol over her womanhood, before bending to take that gentle, delectable flesh between my lips. I groaned as I savored the taste of her mixed with the whiskey, a blend of flavors that danced across my tongue with the purity of a lightning strike. A short, harsh cry greeted my ears, the symphony of my having succeeded. A surge of pride and pleasure flooded me and I turned my eyes to the patient man, once more speaking with my expression.

The bed shifted as he moved, and warm, large, callused hand rested on my hipbones. His skin was warm and I shivered at the temperature difference. As I pressed my tongue into her entrance, he entered me and I bit back a gasp of surprise and pleasure. He began to move within me and I changed to his rhythm to pleasure her as all three of our needs were met.

I buried my face in my partner's center, pleasuring her with long, slow strokes from her entrance to the rigid bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. Her moans changed to gasps, to strangled cries. Pleasure crested in my own body as well as his hand slipped beneath me and began massaging my clit in time with his thrusts. I closed my lips over my partner's zenith, laving it with my tongue, applying gentle pressure in a driving rhythm. I needed her to come undone. I _craved_ hearing and feeling her release.

Slow, tender, I pressed two fingers against her entrance, slipping inside her. Her walls fluttered around the intrusion and she screamed. I wished I could hear my name from her lips, but tonight was not a night for names. This would never happen again, between the three of us. We would go our separate ways, but our bodies would remember this night. I knew I would remember this, fulfilling another as my own needs were tended do. I would remember this on nights when I had nothing and no one but myself to drive me to oblivion.

Her inner walls clamped down on my fingers as she screamed, a hoarse, ragged cry of pure release. I continued pressing my tongue against her zenith, drawing out her pleasure. My body tensed as my partner increased the pace of his thrusting, driving into me with such force I felt I was about to be snapped in half. I gripped the sheets and lowered my head, moaning and whimpering, locking my mind inside the twisted blend of pain and pleasure driving me towards completion. My partner's body was beneath me, sweat-salted and sated…or so I thought. Her fingers threaded into my thick hair and guided me back to her center. I smiled, more than happy to drink from that well, as soon as…my thoughts clouded as my body spasmed…my mind went blank…I shouted to the skies as I released, basking in the waves of pleasure rushing over me.

Brutal, intense, he continued pushing his body into mine, driving himself towards his own end, using me for his pleasure. I was more than willing. I did not want to be able to walk properly, come morning. I wanted to ache with the memory of satiation, let it force me to crave more, drive me to another inn, another drunken night spent in the company of naked flesh and fornication.

The door to the room burst open and I cried out as my partner's body was wrenched out of mine. He yelled his frustration, then uttered a groan of pain as a gloved fist planted itself in his gut. I looked up into the steely eyes of my family's chief bodyguard, Halstead. He glared down at me, disgust clear on his features.

"What in the realms of Thedas are you doing here!?" I screamed at him, indignant. I had done what was required of me for that day, free to spend the night in my own way. I did not want this interruption, and he had no _right_ to be here.

"You've been summoned by your father." He informed me, stern, looking like he wanted to spit on me and drag me through the streets as a whore to be stoned. It would not shock me if those were my father's orders.

"Tell my father to go fuck himself…or to fuck _something_." I growled, wishing I could vanquish Halstead with just a look. It would be an all-out war, though. If expressions could murder, I would be a withered pile of dust.

"You do enough of that for all Ostwick." Halstead smirked, sneering, knowing that he would eventually win.

I was naked, without a weapon, and no way of resisting him. He reached down and grabbed my clothes from the pile on the floor, flinging them at me.

"Get dressed, harlot." He ordered and I obeyed, knowing that there were probably at least three or four of our family's guards outside the door, just waiting for the chance to properly stick it to a noble bitch.

 _I am what I am_ , I smiled to myself as I tugged on my trousers, another affront to my father and mother. I did not dress as women were meant to do, I was promiscuous, and…I smiled. Halstead would win, but not without conceding some ground.

I grabbed the half-full bottle of whiskey and tipped it up into my mouth, draining the vile stuff as quickly as I could. I burned in my throat and boiled in my stomach, but I didn't care. I finished by setting the bottle aside, leaning down and kissing my partner's lips, committing her taste and scent to my memory. There would be no peace for me this night, no blissful oblivion of sated sleep. It did not need to be so for them…they had been so kind.

"I am so sorry." I slipped two sovereigns into her hand to cover the cost of the room and so much more. "You are lovely, and I apologize for this boorish intrusion."

"Thank you." Her hand reached up, covering the thick, horrific scar on my upper right arm. She traced the damaged skin with her fingertips and in her eyes was a longing that called to me. "Thank you _so_ much."

"I trust you'll take care of him?" I said, directing my gaze to the man sitting on the floor under Halstead's glare.

"We'll be fine." She assured me, kissing me again, fierce and powerful, whimpering when Halstead yanked me away.

"Stop whoring yourself." He barked. "You're a blot on your family's name and a stain on the face of humanity!" He saw the empty bottle dangling from my hand. "When did this happen!?" He demanded.

"When you were looking at the _beautiful_ man on the floor with something very like lust in your eyes." I accused him. I'd seen him watch the men he trained, his trousers growing tighter by the moment as he watched broad shoulders and strong muscles executing attacks and defenses. I wondered how his wife enjoyed their lovemaking...poor woman. I needed to pay her a visit.

"Shut your drunken lips, you strumpet!" Another slur that rolled down my back. I was what I was.

"Oh, am I drunk already?" I smiled, knowing that the alcohol had not yet struck me senseless. "Good. Let's get back to the manor. I simply can't speak to my father while sober."

Halstead's meaty hand clamped down on the scar and I cried out from the pain of his grasp. That area was tender still; had never healed properly from the bar brawl a few years ago. Halstead knew it and abused it as he dragged me out of the inn, threw me on the back of a horse, and cantered towards the walls and gates that barred my family from seeing the havoc and cruelty they wreaked on the city they ruled.

As we neared the gates, the whiskey struck in full force, and a sloppy smile spread across my features. My father desired to rule like a tyrant, to have everything a certain way, to have his daughters in Chantry robes and his sons in templar armor? Let him. I would enjoy destroying that image and dream every bloody chance I got. My father hated alcohol; had banned it in Ostwick. He denied me my pleasure, I would break his gilded image of the pure, bright beacon of righteousness he meant Ostwick to be.

This would be fun.

Again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Val Royeaux**

 **Leliana**

I stared down at the heavy tome in front of me, knowing and fearing its purpose. The world had been turned on end after the events at Kirkwall. The mages continued to revolt. In some cases, there were conspiracies from within and without, mages imprisoned in the Circles conspiring with apostates to attack the templar guards, destroy the phylacteries, and allow the mages, at last, their liberty. While the deaths of the templars saddened me, for liberating those with magic should not have been a bloody uprising, I still could not help but send my heart and wishes with the mages.

Even after what Anders had done. Even after losing Kathyra to the mad abomination's blade. While the pain of that loss ripped through me, I had seen the murderer killed. Killed by the very woman who taught me that no man should ever be placed in chains. That lesson resounded with me more strongly than the grief or rage of my loss.

 _After all, what is another loss in the Grand Game of the world? I have lost again and again and again, and life and time keeps stealing from me, while others are granted love and wealth and power and privilege. This world is both unequal and unfair. Justice is blind, not so that she can be meted out with fairness, but so that she does not see the bitter cruelties that defy her very existence._

I did not know if my opinions on the matter were in any way confirmed by Justinia's actions. She had sent messenger birds to every Chantry that oversaw a circle, saying that, in case of a rebellion, the templars were allowed to defend their lives, but she had forbidden the Rite of Annulment. When I wrote those messages and sent them out into the world, I knew that the Divine had made the correct decision. I had been present; watched a Rite of Annulment play out before my eyes, and still woke with nightmares of that day, into its night.

 _And you watched a single woman prevent one from happening,_ my traitorous thoughts whispered through my mind. _Or do you not recall standing on that precipice, where the decision of one saved the lives of hundreds?_

My throat tightened and I felt a bitter taste wash across my tongue. Of course I remembered. I could never forget those days, even though they now seemed surreal, as though they had never happened. It was harder and harder to recall those times, for they now made no impact on the numb wasteland of my soul. That numb was in itself a source of shame.

I stood as the Left Hand of the Divine, but I had no faith. I had seen gods and monsters and demons and heroes in the flesh, but my belief was gone. Gone with the confession of a god who said that she loved me. The god who chose me, who convinced me that she wished to lift me from ashes and create in me a prophet, strong and wise and spreading a message of love. And I had _believed_. I had _clung_ to that after the loss of Salem. I had _made it my_ _ **life**_ _…_ then I lost Kathyra. Salem returned. And, for the love of that god, for the _belief_ of that god, for the _choice_ of divine love above that of mortal…I killed her.

Only to find that the god who _loved_ me, the god who allowed me my _year_ with the woman who held my soul…had let Salem die in order to keep me nearer _her_. In order to make me lean upon that divine grace when I had no shoulders on which to rest my burdens. I had been _used_ again and _betrayed_ again. The god of love had treated me with as much love and concern and caring as Marjolaine. Only as a tool, a pawn, another player in the infernal Game.

Perhaps the contents of this book would save Thedas and spare us from the flames now ravaging the world. They might damn us further. In many ways, I could not say that it mattered to me. But I had so few dear people left to me in this world, and one of them, Justinia, once Dorothea, my savior, believed we had no other choice. And, thus, I kept the tome in safety, knowing that, when the time come, the order would be enacted and the face of Thedas would change.

A knock at the door roused me from my contemplation and I rose from my seat, stretching out the aches in my body before answering it. I stayed in a remote part of the Holy Palace, only three servants and four individuals knew where I rested my head. I opened the door and saw the weary, stooped form of the woman who had, in the past year, become my sister, confidant, and friend.

"Cassandra, is all well?" I asked as she stepped into the room with a defeated posture, so unlike her normal self.

"I have been going over the notes again." She said, and I knew immediately what she spoke of: the record taken from her interrogation of Varric Tethras. "I have scoured them, but there is absolutely _no_ clue as to where Micah Hawke might have fled."

"Her lover captains a ship." I murmured. "And, knowing Isabela, they are resourceful enough and willing enough to live on the seas in order to evade those who would seek them out. I would guess that they've not made landfall but three or four times since they left the city."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and slumped down on the edge of my bed. Her whiskey eyes were exhausted, lined with violet circles of too many hours spent in wakeful searching. She raked her hand through her raven hair and I noticed that there were more silver strands there of late. My throat tightened and the image I did not wish to be there flashed in my mind again.

 _Once long, beautiful hair sheared short. Gone is its dark, earthy luster, replaced by the silver streaks of a life hard-lived. Her eyes are pools of silver-blue perfection, filled with love, piercing my own with longing…wounded eyes, yawning with the memory of my worst nightmares. I meet her gaze and I die as I relive every torture and every injury to body and soul. I die inside, but I crave those eyes, for the love in them always shines brighter than the wound…but she is not a god, and I have the love of a god, and a mission from a god is so much more important than what stands before me now. Mortal love is fleeting, but to give back the love of a silent god to the whole of the world, to repair the wounds, that is what is important…that is what makes me drive the knife forward...into the body that bleeds for all the world._

"Leliana?" Cassandra's voice pulls me from the oblivionic void of my thoughts. "Leliana, where did you go?"

I shook my head. "Nowhere that is important." I said, needing to believe it, knowing that if I repeated it enough times, I would begin to know it for truth.

"There are days when I wish that I could disappear." Cassandra confessed, for it was safe to do so. We harbored each other's secrets now. A relationship begun in hatred and blossomed into love and companionship. "Days when I wish Justinia had never placed that book in our hands, telling us what it would do, and saying nothing further, but that we needed to find someone to lead it."

I nodded, understanding my fellow Hand's frustration. "It seems that Hawke truly _is_ in the wind." I said. "If we are to meet Justinia's timeline for this, we must find another who will suit the position. Someone the people will listen to and follow."

Cassandra fell back, her upper body resting on my mattress as her legs dangled above the floor. "I cannot help but thinking that…"

 _Do_ _ **not**_ _say it!_

"…Salem would have been ideal."

Anger snarled behind my eyes and bitterness washed over my tongue again. "You really believe that someone who threw themselves on a thousand swords could lead an Inquisition?" My fury and hurt dripped from my words, though I did not know whom I despised. Salem…or myself.

"No." Cassandra shook her head. "But I do believe that a woman who bore a country on her shoulders, led in mercy, fighting only for peace, who understood justice, whom the people loved, would be ideal."

"You hated her." I stated the truth.

"I hated her when I did not understand her." Cassandra admitted. "But I do not wish to begin an argument, Leliana. It is a moot point regardless. As you told me, she is no longer in this world."

 _No longer in this world…the third death of Salem Cousland…at my hands. I know her so well, as well as I know myself. When she saw me, she wished to flee. She knew it would hurt me. But Salem Cousland did not run from anything, not from pain, not from confrontation, not from hurt and not from joy. She did not run…but I did. I did so many times._

"One people's champion dead, another unable to be found." I shook my head, looking at the Writ of Inquisition, signed by Justinia's own hand. "Whatever shall we do?"

Cassandra rose, walked to me, and rested her hand on my shoulders. I met her whiskey eyes, daunted by the abject _faith_ I saw within them. "The Maker will provide." She told me, and I wanted to believe her.

I could not. Not in my true heart. I had no faith. I had no god to cling to. I knew that the Maker was truth. I had witnessed her power. I had felt her touch and heard her voice. In spite of that, I could no longer believe. And this god that Cassandra believed in with all of her soul was the one who had lied to me, used me, and made me into this woman who felt almost nothing.

"Yes." I gave her my assent, not wishing to argue, not wishing Cassandra to know _this_ secret of mine. It was enough that Justinia could see it in my eyes, and that the sight of it caused her pain. "We must keep hoping and keep searching. Now," I reached up and squeezed her hand, "you should get some rest, Cass. You look beyond exhausted."

Her eyes fluttered closed and she nodded. "I simply do not feel that I can rest until I have found the answer to this." She told me. "But perhaps it is when we are not seeking that the one to lead this Inquisition will appear."

"That might very well be the case." I agreed, if only so that she would retire to her chambers and _sleep_ as she so desperately needed to.

Cassandra offered a beleaguered smile and left me staring once more at the book. I laughed, dark and menacing, pushing it away from me. Heroes were not chosen, they were made. Made from raw materials, broken and mended and rebroken. Folded into a place of impossible strength. Salem Cousland and Micah Hawke were such women, tempered by the fires of trial and written into legends and tales. But I knew much of the world. Women and men of their caliber were rare indeed. Our Inquisitor would not simply _appear_. They would have to be made by the trials of the world.

 _But the Blight is dead. The monster of Kirkwall was killed. This conflict between mage and templar will forge heroes, perhaps, but no legends. We have no horror to craft a legend at hand. No, Cassandra, I do not think the Maker will provide. Not if my hands have touched this enterprise…the god you love has turned her back on me._

 _No matter your or Justinia's belief…this Inquisition is doomed._


	3. Chapter 3

**Val Royeaux**

 **Cassandra**

I left Leliana's quarters, dreading the long walk back to mine. The woman knew me too well. Sleep had become naught but a distant dream in the wake of…of the world unraveling at the seams. I did not know how Justinia still walked about with such grace and her benevolent smile, her wisdom ever ready and her care…her care a permanent fixture that both comforted and confused. I did not feel that I deserved the comfort Most Holy offered me. I had failed her.

 _I was so angry,_ I remembered Varric Tethras being dragged before me so that I might know where the Champion of Kirkwall had gone. He told me a story so bombastic and amazing that I struggled to believe it…until I remembered in whose company I traveled. Mortal men were capable of things so much greater than their own mortality. _But even though I believed him, I could not control my wrath. I could not still my incredulity. I could not open my lips and say to him the words that mattered in that moment, that I did not seek the Champion to destroy her but to…to ask for her_ _ **help**_ _._

A fortnight ago, Justinia had called a private audience with myself and Leliana. She laid before us the Writ of Inquisition and relayed to us all that it entailed. The scope of it…it was so large. I had set foot in every country of Thedas; I knew the expansivity of the world. To attempt to draw it together, beneath one banner…to raise one power so great that all would bend the knee. Even the blessing of the Divine, which Justinia would grant, would be little when it came to facing the monarchies and powers of the world. Especially Tevinter, which would never recognize Chantry rule or dictates.

 _It shocks me that more mages have not fled there,_ I mused as I walked the marble halls of Val Royeaux. _But, even there, mages are often enslaved to powerful magisters. There is no freedom in Tevinter. Leliana did not seem shocked when Justinia informed us that the mages who revolted here have fled to Ferelden, where King Alistair granted them asylum. There is no Circle in Ferelden any longer, and the sole unrest among the magi there has been templars of other countries invading to track down the new "apostates."_

A disgusted noise peeled out of my lips. This was not what was meant to be happening. Leliana and I were not meant to be _here_ , feeling chained in Val Royeaux while the world crumbled around us. Still, we did not move without Justinia's orders, and those had not come. We were left to stare at the Writ of Inquisition and ponder and pray on what we would do when that moment came. Well…I prayed. I was no longer certain if Leliana lifted her voice to the Maker in supplication any longer. She would agree with me, as she just had, that our god would provide, but I could see no conviction in her deep blue eyes. When I spoke of the name, I saw nothing but hurt in her countenance and it…it disturbed me.

 _But you were not there in Kirkwall, Cassandra._ My words to Leliana gnawed at me, making me wish that I'd not said them. The tone of her voice had fallen and become the deadly low I knew better than approach. When that tone was heard, it was safer to be near a rabid dragon than Leliana Cousland. _You did not see the horrors she saw…but you saw her when she arrived here, seeking sanctuary. She'd lost Kathyra, and fought not to lose Kestrel, and she lost…_

I remembered the woman aboard the ship bound to Kirkwall from Ostwick, the fierceness of her posture, the way she had glared a man who would have caused trouble into complete, pallid submission. I recalled the way I watched her strip away the clothing from Leliana's body so that my wounded sister could rest more easily. I did not know, at that time, the identity of that woman, only that I thanked the Maker for her help. What I did not understand was how Leliana could have…how she had…

 _Even though we loved one another,_ Cassandra mused, listening to the music of her footfalls against the marble, _Galyan never held me as I saw Salem hold Leliana. And I never held him in such a way either. I was too young, too afraid…but I was only just younger than Salem and Leliana were when they met. What I would give now to feel that passion, to know that manner of love is…it is shameful._

My cheeks heated as I thought of the book tucked beneath my pillow, written by the very man I had ruthlessly questioned. He wrote tales of love and adventure, peril and torment, sending my heart spiraling into the story, by turns envying and idolizing the characters he created. I wondered what my life might have been, had my father and mother survived the coup. I wondered what my life might have been, had I loved Galyan with the surety and abandon that Salem showed for…

 _It did not stop Leliana from running her through._ I cut short my thoughts before they drifted into dangerous seas. _That love did not stop Salem from being cold when Leliana returned after I dragged her before Divine Beatrix. That love did not stop the madness of Kirkwall…though it did end an archdemon. Maker's breath…I do not know if I will ever understand love, its intricacies, its powers, or, so often, its arrival by pure chance._

I stepped out into the courtyard, letting the moonlight wash over me with pale, revealing light. Alone, beneath the moon, I felt comfortable. It did not burn so bright as the sun I so often stood in. Beneath the moon, I could be free. To contemplate. To ponder. To worry. To _feel_.

In the center of the courtyard stood the statue of Andraste, her hands outstretched towards the heavens, towards the Maker. I knew that the Maker had called Leliana to stand in such a place as Andraste once stood, but…but with Leliana's icy demeanor of late…that closeness and position might no longer exist. This world was breaking at the seams, but the legacy of Andraste remained. I would _have_ to believe, even if my counterpart could not.

 _Hawke is lost to us, and Salem lost to life, again._ I thought, walking to the base of the statue and kneeling before it. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the flint I carried ever with me. Striking it, I sparked one of the candles at the base of the statue. As the dim flame climbed into full life, I knelt down, closing my eyes and lowering my face, humbling myself before heaven.

"Andraste, Bride of the Maker, I pray you listen to my prayer at this, our hour of need. Deliver unto us what is needed and what is sought. Send to us someone upon whom we can depend, in whom the Maker's grace run's deep, in whom belief shines like a sun in the sky to guide us home. Send us someone pure of heart and intent, for I am afraid that we, your humble servants before you, do not have the ability to show your love and your light across Thedas. I am afraid that we are not enough…bring to our side one who is, I beg of you."

My prayer ended and I reached out, snuffing the burning candle beneath my fingers, letting the smoke rise into the sky. My heart ached and my spirit groaned, threatening to crack beneath the pressure and the ache. I longed for what I read in Varric's books and Leliana's past. Someone who would shore me up, who knew the intimacies of my heart and held me close, offering strength and support. Someone who would love me, and whom I could love.

"And," I lifted my eyes to Andraste, the woman whose love was sought out by a _god_ , "if you will indulge the prayer of a tired, battered warrior, allow my heart to find a companion. Allow me to know, in my service to you, the beauty of your love on this earth."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ostwick**

 **Trevelyan**

By the time we reached my family's sumptuous estate, I was schnockered, in a state of pleasant lassitude I knew would soon be ruined. My family had a way of ruining everything. Halstead half-dragged me past the statue of the Maker, Andraste, Justinia, and Cassandra Pentaghast. As per my usual tradition, I spat at its feet, despising what it stood for. I'd met Cassandra once, and she seemed kind, if a bit rigid and strict, but the women themselves were not what that damn statue represented. It represented the might of the Maker, and the power of the people who used that Maker to own the fucking world, subjugate the people, and make the lives of the simple, innocent, and impoverished a living hell.

Apathy was as bad as purposeful destruction, right? At least, that's what it seemed like to me. And I'd never met a more apathetic man than Edmund Trevelyan, the man who gave me my eyes…and my hatred of him. Halstead dragged me into my father's study. The man himself, his coal black hair going silver with age, sat before the fire, his hand perched on his chin, stroking his beard: his state of repose and ponderance. Or holy communion with the Maker, who knew? All I knew was that, whenever he sat like this, with his eyes toward the fire and one leg crossed over the other, it never boded well.

He glanced up, but didn't look at me. His eyes, instead, went to Halstead, his trusted guardian and friend. If only he knew that the man, in whom he placed his utmost belief, lusted after other men…my father would have him _stoned_. That was the punishment for sexual aberrance in Ostwick. But my father was blind to Halstead's proclivities. I wasn't though, and therefore my terrible secret, my preference for the fairer sex, went untold by my family's guard dog.

"A brothel?" He asked Halstead, obviously inquiring as to what den of degenerates Halstead had been forced to drag me from this time.

"Might as well have been, milord." Halstead answered, grabbing me by the collar and throwing me at my father's feet. The man's imperious nose wrinkled at the stench of sex and whiskey. I smiled up at him, just to piss him off.

"You're intoxicated." He hissed, his eyes flashing with anger.

"So long as I remain here, I shall be intoxicated in perpetuity." I slurred, trumping his vocabulary with my own, even though I knew that, if I stood, I would not be able to stand straight.

"Where did we go wrong with you, Piety?" He asked, using my first name, the syllables of which brought a snarl to my lips.

"That is _not_ my name." I growled at him, ready to turn this confrontation into what it was meant to be.

"It is the name your mother blessed you with, and the name you shall wear when you represent our noble house at the Conclave." My father countered.

My brow creased as my muddled thoughts attempted to process what was happening. I wanted to be overjoyed, for it sounded as though I might be free of Ostwick. However, my family did nothing kind. Not to me.

"Con…con-what?" I managed to mumble.

My father held a letter aloft in his hand, cradling it like a precious thing. "Today we received a summons from the Divine Justinia. All city states which have a Circle of Magi within them are required to send a representative to the Conclave. It will be held at Haven, at the sacred Temple of Andraste. After much deliberation…we have decided that we have no other choice than to send you."

Laughter rippled out of my throat, a harsh, mocking bray. "You're going to send me…to represent the family…before the _Divine?_ " I asked, incredulous, my spirits somewhat dampened as the whiskey began to wear off. It took more and more of it to keep me drunk these days. "You've lost your bloody mind!"

"Don't I know it." My father stared down at me, his disdain and disgust clear in his eyes. "I tremble to think of your feet standing on hallowed ground. But, if in touching it you should burn, it would be a fitting end, a burden gone, and a darkness eliminated."

"Oh, don't." I put mock pleading into my voice. "I cannot _bear_ your caring for me, father. That you are so _concerned_ for my well-being makes my cup run over with joy."

"I would sooner see you flogged than send you." He growled. "But we have no choice."

"The fuck you don't." I managed to stagger to my feet and fling myself into the plush, comfortable chair opposite his. "Why not Alathea, Revered Mother of the Ostwick Chantry? Or Knight Captain Caleb of the templar order? Or Sister Charity? Or any other of the bastards I _know_ you've fathered." I brought his infidelity to light, for no one had the Trevelyan eyes save for members of my family, save for our cook's young son…my father's bastard child…the man proclaimed he held his marriage bed and marriage vows sacred above all…I could not even finish the thought without chortling aloud.

"My other daughters and my son do not disgrace me." My father stated, his pride of them clear in his voice like a clarion bell. "Alathea is the youngest Revered Mother in all Thedas. Caleb has proven his worth to the templar order several times over. It is with great regret that I cannot send your sister Charity, but she is in training at the mission in Rivain, and would not be able to make the Conclave in time."

"Why don't you go?" I demanded to know. "Or mother? Surely you'd both come to climax in your clothing upon seeing the _Divine_."

"Seal your whoring lips!" My father screamed at me. "You will _not_ speak of such a base reaction to the sight of the Maker's chosen in _my_ presence."

"But she's not the Maker's chosen, is she?" I giggled. "She's chosen by the Nine. Humans. Who make mistakes."

"My only mistake was siring you." My father stated. The words once cut me to the bone. Now, they didn't even break the skin.

"I'll agree with you there." I conceded the point, showing him that he could not insult me. "Mother was probably dry as the desert, but somehow you managed to get another worthless daughter on her."

"Your mother is _ill_." He snapped the word off at the end like a sheared sword. "Do not speak of her with such disrespect."

I rolled my eyes. "I give as I receive, father."

He looked like he'd eaten bad fish. "I hate it when you call me that."

"I hate it when you call me Piety." I countered. "My _name_ is _Tristan_. But our mutual hatred doesn't seem to stop either of us."

"It pains me to send a response." My father shook his head, his voice darkening. "But I must inform Most Holy that I shall be sending the _least_ of my children to the Conclave, along with a retainer of guards, and some of the sisters from our Chantry…to keep you in line."

"Whatever do you think I'll do to disgrace you?" I questioned, my eyes wide and innocent. "Proposition the old lady? I'm sure she has plenty of bedwarmers, luscious, naked sisters craving a _taste_ of divinity."

My father said nothing, simply exploded out of his chair, crossed the few steps to me, and backhanded me across the face. The large, ornate signet he wore cut through my lip and I tasted the acrid iron of blood in my mouth. He stepped back, breathing heavy, waiting to see my response to his punishment.

I reached up, touching the split with hesitant fingers. This one was bad. Worse than usual. Might even scar. I could not care less. I looked up at my father, and smiled as wide as I could, letting blood run down my chin.

"I take it you don't like to think of the Divine entertaining carnal pleasures?" I asked. "Seems like an odd thing to care about, if you ask me. I would honestly be more concerned with the fact that the latest shipments of grain from Amaranthine didn't arrive, and that people are starving. I would be more concerned with the fact that apostate mages from Kirkwall are hiding here and practicing their arts, violating your rules. Perhaps even more concerned that the drought has killed the herb gardens of the healers, and it is fever season. But if you'd rather care about what's going on in Justinia's knickers, I suppose you know best."

"I should have killed you when you came from your mother's womb." My father spat on me, the glob of saliva catching my cheek and running down my face. "I would rather have buried you as an infant. Seeing you now is…"

"A reminder of your very human nature, oh son of the Maker?" I taunted him, wiping his spittle from my skin. He couldn't kill me, even if he wanted to. He needed me for this…Conclave. "And all the mistakes you made? Trust me, someday the cook's boy is going to wonder why he's not on the throne of Ostwick. He's a Trevelyan, after all."

"You lying whore!" My father roared. "Is there nothing sacred to you!?" He shouted. "Nothing?!"

"I understand men have needs." I shrugged my shoulders. "And mother has been _so_ ill. But…if I recall…she was still accepting you into her bed at the time that child was fathered. Odd timing, that. Tell me, are all of your numerous donations to the Chantry and its charity to cleanse the stain from your soul for being an adulterous liar? At least I don't lie about what I am, father."

His face darkened and in his eyes shone the purity of rage. I wanted to giggle at the intensity of his thunderous brow, but my jaw ached and my lip stung and I so hated the taste of blood. I decided against giggling, and waited for his response.

"You leave in the morning." He snarled at last, ending the conversation, exerting his "power" over me to do so. "And I swear by the Maker, if you disgrace our name before the Divine, I will hang you from a tree, cut you open, and let the vultures nip at your insides."

"Swear by whatever you want." I smiled, jumping up from my seat and patting him on his quivering jowls. "What doesn't exist can't validate your oaths."

"Get. Out." My father pointed to the door and I sauntered out.

The woman assigned as my personal servant came to guide me to my rooms. I leaned on her, my eyes fixed to the swell of her breasts as we walked.

"I have taken the liberty of packing your things, milady." She spoke, her voice dulcet and appealing. "You should have to worry for nothing when you depart on the morrow. I've seen to it. I'll see to your poor lip when we get to the room." She paused, turning and brushing her fingers over the tender skin. "You're already starting to bruise. Your brute of a father slapped you again?" I nodded. "I'd like to see him in the pillory for that."

"You're too kind, Evie." I murmured against the shell of her ear, savoring as she shivered beneath me. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"You won't have to find out." Evie smiled. "Lord Trevelyan has given me leave to journey with you to the Conclave."

"Oh that is _delicious_." I murmur, nipping the sensitive skin of her neck with my teeth. "We should celebrate, my dear."

"You look a little too drunk for that. And I do not know how generous your mouth could be, bruised and cut as it is."

She grinned at me again and it went straight to my core. Halstead had interrupted a perfectly good fuck. I'd be damned if I let that be the end of my day.

"Not in the least." I cajoled, pleading with my eyes, a look that always melted her heart. I leaned closer and whispered. "I can already feel you inside me."

"My lady!" She gasped, feigning astonishment.

But, as always, her resolve crumpled. When the bedroom door closed, her corset opened.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ferelden**

 **Salem Cousland**

I rose on stiff legs and walked to the window. I could smell the morning dew on the grasses. Weak, gold light pierced the blanket of the trees, and I smiled. I understood why those who wished never to be seen would make their hiding place here. It also made sense to me, in a perverse way, with the darkest of humors, to make my way back to where the madness now my life began. Back before I knew what drinking that tainted blood would do to me. Back before I met the woman who made my life heaven and hell and all manner of flawed perfection.

At the thought of her, I ached. I reached out and pressed my hand against the last wound I was dealt…the last time that she touched me. The wound healed poorly, but it was the sole source of any physical discomfort. When I had been remade, all of my scars were returned, but all of my pain taken. All of the damage undone.

 _I do believe I might be the one soul in this world ungrateful for a second chance. All would have been better if I remained dead…and yet I do not wish I was dead. I want nothing more now but to live…yet I am unsure as to how. I thought that returning here might bring me a measure of understanding…to come back to the beginning._

I laughed at myself.

 _Who can tell where it truly began? Perhaps when my father defied protocol and allowed me to train with the sword. Perhaps when I first kissed a woman and made love. Perhaps when I struck down Cauthrien at the tournament, in this years before the Blight. Who can say? There are really no beginnings that are not begun themselves. It is an endless circle and I am caught in it, determined to find an end…but what end shall I find?_

The sun climbed higher in the sky and I shook myself further into awareness, knowing what I should do before the heat of the day came to rest. This solitary existence was not easy, but it was pleasant. In spite of my decision to live, to attempt to mend Leliana's riven faith yet again, sometimes the most strategic command a soldier could utter was a call of retreat. I needed to fit myself within my own mind again. To free myself from the clutter of the conspiracies of heaven.

I walked outside in nothing but my trousers, boots, and breastband. I grabbed the axe that leaned against the hut and walked to the woodpile, eyeing what was left. With winter soon to arrive, I would need much more than I had at hand to survive. I would need to fell another tree soon, but what I had would do for now. I chose a log and set it up, swinging the axe down, enjoying the physical sensation of working, the crisp splitting of the wood, the pleasant ache of exertion in my arms and spine and chest.

I thought of nothing in this place but the movement of my body and the aim of my axe. All other thoughts clouding my mind fell away. The sun rose higher and a sheen of sweat soon covered my body. It drenched the hair I had allowed to grow long after Kirkwall. It helped me feel more myself again. When I saw my reflection in the stream, I recognized the woman within. I saw the eyes wounded beyond measure, the scar across my cheek left by the kiss of dragon-flame. I saw the lines of a woman too long old, yet young enough to remain entrenched in the belief that destiny could be altered.

That gods could be defied, in the name of mortal love.

I was proof.

Gods could be killed.

"It is the unwise who bare their scars to sunlight." I heard a voice that, once, chilled me to the bone. Now, I did not care. My path was charted. My choices made. "It might let those who look on believe there is some sort of strength in the one who bears them."

I straightened, flexing my shoulders to ease the ache in my muscles. I kept my axe gripped in my hands, though I knew it would be useless to wield a weapon here. Not against this foe.

"You are the one who left me for dead." I turned and smiled into the golden eyes of the woman whose former home was not my residence. Flemeth had found refuge in the Korcari Wilds. Now, I did as well. "You see how well that plan worked out."

"Yours was a mortal wound." She frowned and her eyes narrowed, as if to see into my spirit and ascertain whether I had truly survived.

"It appears that, after being pulled from the realms of the beyond by a dragon's talon and a god's magic, I am no longer quite mortal."

I smiled at her, wondering why she had come here. She knew that she no longer had any hold on me. Her slip of the tongue in Kirkwall allowed me the choice. The choice to live, to walk away from her, to claim my life as my own again. No matter what she wished to do, she could no longer command me.

"This life does not suit you, Salem." She chided me, her tone as condescending as it had been over ten years ago, when she foisted Morrigan upon me and Alistair. "An existence in isolation while the world burns down. I find it curious that you are not in the thick of it."

"All legends have their moments, Flemeth." I reminded her. "Your name is little known any longer."

"I will be known again." She told me, such confidence in her voice that I felt uneasy. "My true name and true spirit will be shown. There is war on Thedas, Salem, and, as I warned you long ago, war in heaven. All the realms are trembling in anticipation, and something can tremble only so long before it breaks."

"And you have come seeking me, why?" I asked, planting the head of my axe on the ground and leaning on it, easing the ache in my left side, where the new wound mirrored the one on my side, left there by Marjolaine. "I'm no longer your strange resurrected lapdog."

"And your Leliana is no longer my sister's prophet." Flemeth smiled, a razored baring of teeth. "Still, the gods move, drawing you into their web."

"And I stand before a skilled spider." I mocked her. "I tired of your cryptics the moment I met you, Witch of the Wilds. Why are you really here?"

"Because those who wield great power are moving." Flemeth spoke. "Every prophet, every noble, every branch of those locked in conflict will stand, within a fortnight, at the Temple of Andraste. You are needed there, Salem."

"Ha!" I scoffed. "The Temple of Andraste? The crumbling ruin that I unearthed in the town where I murdered an innocent child and lost the woman I loved? What blighted idiocy led you to think you could convince me to go _there_?"

"Leliana journeys with the woman who calls herself the _Divine_." Flemeth spat the word out. "And I know that you still dream of being her protector. Whatever happens there will determine the fate of the world, Salem. You should have a say."

"No." I shook my head. "I will do things in my own way, Flemeth, and not at the whim of your machinations. So the leaders of war are being led to the woman who unified a world and called together an army? Why should that matter to me? My days of flinging myself into battle in the name of a god or greater good are done. I am at last free to fight for all that I have ever wanted. A _life_ , lived in _love_ , dwelling in _peace_. I swore I would never return to Haven. I am nothing if not a woman of my word."

Flemeth nodded. "That you are." She mused. "Though I do not believe that Leliana will share your propensity for cheating death. She is not so skilled at evading the mortal coil."

"We have been over this." I growled, gripping the axe tight in my hand. "You will not _touch_ …"

"Not I, little warden." Flemeth chided me, calling me by a title I no longer deserved, as my blood was scrubbed free of the taint. "You see so much, but you cannot read the ripples through the realms. You cannot see that the world is ending."

I rested my free hand over the scar on my side, remembering the look in Leliana's eyes, the look of one who had forsaken mortal love for a divine calling…only to find…only to find that the gods were, perhaps, incapable of love. They knew only how to promise and to use…and to hurt.

"My world already ended, Flemeth." My voice grew dark with the recollection. "The woman who left me, who screamed at me, and who _loved_ me as I never knew love could exist plunged her knife into my side and left me to die. That day, my world ceased to exist. But it had to do so, so that I could begin to rebuild it."

"There will be no rebuilding from what is coming." Flemeth warned me, ominous. "And without her shield, the Left Hand will find herself helpless and broken."

"Beware the broken hand that holds a sword." I murmured. "It is the wounded animal who lashes out all the more fiercely, and the broken who can rebuild the world."

"You should go to Haven." Flemeth said, blunt, shocking me to the core.

 _Could it be, for once, that she is not manipulating me for her own ends? That she senses something coming so horrific and wrong that the_ _ **gods**_ _tremble in its wake?_

I quickly talked myself out of my thoughts. I tired of being used. Of being manipulated. Of using my strength to further another's ends. This life, this third life, would end when I damn well said so. Not at the whim of Flemeth, or any other.

"Tell me why." I said, firm in my decision to stay, but wishing to hear her reasons…why she had come back to the Wilds to seek me out.

"Because even the gods cannot see you." She said. "Because, when overlooking the world, you are well and truly hidden. I had to seek you out as if I were nothing more than a mere mortal tracker. Between the world's ending and its continuance…such an asset is invaluable."

"So you do want something from me." I shook my head, glared and her, and repeated the last words I spoke to her in Kirkwall as I bled from my lover's blade…a knife I still wore tucked inside my belt, to be returned to her with words of forgiveness and love. "Fuck you, Flemeth."

Her golden eyes caught flame and her lips curled into a derisive sneer. "You will regret this, little warden." She told me. "But, I shall depart and say nothing of our meeting. It shall be…" She paused, her eyes attempting to pierce my soul, "…as you say."


	6. Chapter 6

**Somewhere in Ferelden**

 **Rylie Camerloch**

The last time I'd set foot in Ferelden, I'd been borderline comatose, feverish, with a laceration from shoulder to hip. I'd seen one city, and very little of it…which would explain why I did not remember the bloody _humidity_. My clothes stuck to my skin and the air pressed in around me. I honestly didn't know if I was breathing air or water at this point.

I wiped sweat from my brow and prayed that our cavalcade would make camp near a river at the least, or find a city at the best. Somewhere where I could bathe and wash my clothes and maybe not reek of sweat and exertion for a few candlemarks. However, what I could not deny was how very wonderful it felt to _move_. After years trapped in the city of Kirkwall, then ensconced in the Hall of the Divine, I veritably _ached_ to travel. I did not care that the Divine's cavalcade crept slowly across the land, traveling to the Conclave to be held at the Temple of Andraste. All that mattered was the freedom to _move_.

 _This land is rough, it is true. The terrain is difficult, the biting insects are nipping at us, even in late autumn, and the humidity is slaughtering me. However, there is a beauty here. It is harsh, stark, and difficult to find, but I can see it. I wonder if Leliana witnessed this same beauty when she traversed this land before?_

I sought out the Left Hand, my friend, my sister in trials and suffering. I did not see her amid the throng of those traveling to Haven, but that did not surprise me. I rode on the edges of the crowd with the other templars. Leliana rode with Justinia and the Nine, at the center of the cavalcade, for protection. I did not know who would be brazen enough to attack the Divine herself, a woman revered across all Thedas, but these were unstable times.

"Sergeant Camerloch." A young templar private pulled his horse alongside mine and called me by my title.

It chafed at me. After Kirkwall, after seeing the atrocities committed by those of my order, I wanted to leave. However, I could not. Not without risking my life and sanity by withdrawing from lyrium. It was one with my blood now, and I could not escape its gift or its curse. So I did what I had to do. I remained with the order, fighting to change it from within, knowing that I had the backing of the Divine in my venture.

 _The templars from Kirkwall…the ones who lit the fires in the halls that housed the children, those who slaughtered mages who were too afraid to fight back…they were executed in Val Royeaux, in front of the assembled members of the templar order. I…I did not grieve for their deaths but there was a part of me…a part of me that wished I were executed with them. For not being able to stop the atrocity. For not stopping Meredith. Am I not as guilty as they were? I do not know…no one does. Some matters of morality cannot be weighed in Justice's scales._

"Sergeant Camerloch." He called my name, drawing me from reverie. "There's a woman lagging behind the group. We were told to report any unusual movements of members of the…"

"I'll handle it." I told him, whipping my horse around and riding past the line of wagons filled with supplies and the groups of pilgrims who wished to join the Conclave at Haven in order to stand at the center of history.

Leliana ordered those on protection detail to make certain that the group stayed together as much as possible. Were anyone to lag behind, it would create a weak spot that bandits or those with more calculated plans might take advantage of. I did not want the private to wander into a trap while following orders.

However, as I neared the end of the caravan, I knew who was lagging behind. The sound of a dry, hacking cough pierced through my very soul and I kicked my horse into a canter. I found Kestrel leaning against a tree, her body curled into itself as she struggled to pull in air. I knew the humidity had to be hell on her breathing…her lungs were irreparably damaged, scarred by the heat of the fires set in Kirkwall…the flames she ran through to save innocent children slaughtered by the order of an insane, malicious woman.

The coughing persisted and I all but flew off of my horse, landing on the ground and rushing to her, rubbing her back as she pitched forward into my arms, gasping for breath. Her body trembled against mine and I was grateful I faced away from her, so that she could not see the worry and anxiety spreading across my face. The worry quickly replaced by frustration.

 _What is she doing!? She knows better than to travel on foot for very long! What in hell possessed her to do such a thing, especially in this place where the air is thicker than rancid pea soup!_

The coughing ceased and I could hear her breathing calm. I eased the woman I loved out of my grasp, hating that there was so much _less_ of her to touch. Kestrel had always been thin, but her injuries made it difficult for her to gain weight, and she seemed to lose it as soon as it appeared. Madame Vivienne de Fer warned me that this might happen, but I did not think it would be so soon…did not think that, given what she had done, her suffering would still be so severe. That suffering, however, did not take away from the complete _idiocy_ of her actions. I'd made _certain_ she was outfitted with a horse. A strong, sturdy sorrel mare that could carry her weight with ease.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking!?" I shouted at her, staring into her vivid viridian eyes…knowing that only one of them could see me. The other had been destroyed by the fists of templars…had to be blinded so that her lungs could be healed to the point that she did not die from her wounds. "How long have you been walking!?"

Her lips lifted in that incorrigible smile that never failed to make my heart trip over itself. However, it couldn't cut through my worry over the sweat dripping down her face, the chill of her skin, and the pallor of her face.

"About a candlemark." She murmured, abashed, knowing that whatever I would say next, she deserved it.

"Care to tell me _why_?" I glared at her, irate, but not wanting to…not wanting to make anything worse.

"The…" She gasped for breath, "The wagons are overloaded. There aren't…aren't enough horses, and our water stores are low. Sister Regina grew faint along the road. There was nowhere for her so I…I gave her my horse. She is elderly, Rylie." Kestrel defended herself. "I couldn't just…do nothing. No one else would…help her. She was weak...and hurting."

 _You beautiful, wonderful, kind, considerate,_ _ **idiot!**_

"Why didn't you call for me, Kes?" I asked, running my hand through her sweat-soaked hair, tucking it behind her ear and away from her face, revealing the horrid red ink of her apostate's mark. "Majesty can carry both of us, with ease."

She shook her head and I wondered what ridiculous excuse would come out of her mouth. "You're part of the protection detail." Her voice was low, soft, and raspy. I could listen to it for an eternity…an eternity cut short by evil men. "I would only…only be a hindrance, if something were to happen."

"My beautiful, stupid girl." I leaned in and ghosted a kiss across her lips, wishing that I could deepen it but even that…my heart burned with rage…even that, in some part, had been taken from us.

 _Even a simple kiss leaves her breathless and no longer…no longer in a way that I love, cherish, and strive to encourage._

I whistled and Majesty, my horse, moved closer. I helped Kestrel stand and aided her as she mounted. I swung into the saddle behind her, smiling as my taller lover sank back into my embrace. Her head rested on my shoulder and I pressed my cheek against hers, savoring the feel of her skin against mine. In a world where everything was changing, crumbling, and shredding apart at the seams, I was blessed. I had this, touch, connection, love forged through fear and flames.

I was blessed, I knew, but the past years had diminished the rosy glow that once surrounded the world. This world was cruel, bitter, and anything beautiful had to be snatched from the claws of all which attempted to strip it away. I was blessed, I knew. Kestrel shivered from the cold, but the day, for the season, was temperate. I pulled her tighter against me, sharing my warmth.

 _But for how long?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Somewhere in Ferelden**

 **Kestrel Ariyah**

Everything ached. Everything. Even the very tips of my fingers felt exhausted. My lungs felt wrung out, too tight in my chest. I did not think I would ever become accustomed to this sensation, to this situation, to this…to being this weak. I hated it. I hated the worry that I could feel pouring off of Rylie. I hated being the cause of it. I hated that I could not put a stop to the instincts that bred moments like this.

 _But...Sister Regina...the poor woman was in agony, on the verge of collapse, and she has seen over six decades of life. I simply could not let her suffer and no one else,_ my heart burned against the selfishness I had witnessed, _seemed to care for her health. If Justinia were to be told of this…there would be several templars and Chantry officials no longer possessed of their rank and station. However, right now, we need all of the able-bodied men and women available. I can forgive the selfish actions of others for the greater good…even if acting as I think best hurts…so very badly._

Attempting to keep my movements subtle, I reached up and pressed against my chest, at the bundle of pain that used to be healthy, functional lungs. I closed my eyes and winced at the harsh spikes of fire piercing through my breastbone and into the organs behind it. I gritted my teeth and swallowed down the agony. Tears filled my eyes and I let them fall. I was tired of this. Tired of being so weak and helpless. Tired of the anguished fear in Rylie's night-sky eyes whenever I caught even the mildest illness.

"Kes?" She spoke and I soared at the sound of her Starkhaven brogue.

In spite of my pain, in spite of my weakness, we were no longer in Kirkwall. In spite of my apostate's mark, I was under the protection of the Divine. We could touch each other daily, share a bed at night, be one with each other in every way. I would give up more than my health and my sight for that gift alone.

"Kes, what's wrong?" She asked, concern evident in her tone. "You just went stiff and your breathing changed."

 _I love you, Rylie Camerloch. You know everything about me and, while that frustrates me to no end, I know that you_ _ **care**_ _with all of your beautiful, boundless heart._

"Just chest pain." I murmured. "Madame de Fer said that it would occur, especially in places and conditions like this."

"It's so bloody humid." Rylie agreed, shifting behind me.

I heard the sound of creaking leather, heard rustling noises as Rylie dug through the small pouch she wore on her belt, and a familiar scent tinged the air.

"Here." Rylie's hand appeared in front of me, holding a fragrant chunk of ginger root. "I remember Kathyra saying that ginger was excellent for chest pain. Not so good as garlic, but I have none of that on hand, and no desire to taste it when I kiss you."

"Thank you, sweet girl." I whispered, tossing the root in my mouth and beginning to chew, the fragrance stinging my nose and the taste my tongue.

The mention of Kathyra's name bruised my heart. I missed the kind Seeker of Truth, the physician who was a mentor, a friend...a sister. The woman who despised magic…yet found a place in her heart for me. She was needed here, in so many ways. She might have helped Sister Regina, and all of the Nine, who were elderly and each suffering some form of ailment from their time spent on Thedas. There were no healers here…none save for me, and I barely had the strength to perform magic anymore.

 _No._ I growled at my inner, bitter spirit. _I will not allow myself to wallow in grief. The past is the past, and there is nothing that can be done. I saved twenty-four lives that day, and I cannot regret that…I have my life, I have my love, and twenty-four mages survived the horror of Kirkwall. I lost nothing but a little of my health and the sight in my right eye._ A blur of violet entered my vision, standing out in the sea of the white and red of Chantry vestments and the gleaming silver of templar armor. _Leliana…I lost nothing compared to what she suffered. She held Kathyra in her arms as the woman bled to death. She watched another lover die, then she…she killed Salem Cousland. She killed the great love of her life so that her service to the Maker would not be impeded. But there is a light missing from her eyes. Even my damaged vision can ascertain that._

"She looks so sad of late." Rylie commented, echoing my thoughts. "And she seems to speak to no one but Justinia and Cassandra."

"I know." I murmured. "She is suffering from guilt, Riley. She sees what happened to me as her fault." I did not know how I knew this, but the voice in my heart that I always followed told me it was truth. "She is afraid to approach us because she fears we blame her."

"That's utter shite." Riley spoke, her voice fierce with honesty.

"Were it not for her, would we ever have set foot in Kirkwall?" I asked. "Do not take me wrongly, sweet girl, I do not blame Leliana for our fate, but I understand where she stands and what she believes."

"If it weren't for her, you would have been killed." Rylie stated, blunt, as was her manner. "You were a mage posing as a templar, Kes. Someone would have found out eventually, and both of us would have been executed. In fact, if not for Leliana, you would have gone with the magelets to the Circle at Montsimmard."

I shuddered at the thought. I knew that I could never dwell in a Circle of Magi again. Not after Kirkwall. The cloying fear each and every day would destroy me. The atrocities I had witnessed there still haunted my dreams. My nightmares were filled with the memories, not just of the enactment of the Right of Annulment, but of the day to day horrors.

I dreamed of being too late to save Felicity from the templar who would have stolen her innocence at the tender age of thirteen. I dreamed of being one of the mages sentenced to the Rite of Tranquility simply for questioning a templar's orders. I dreamed of the torture I endured while in solitary confinement…going hungry for days on end…being beaten and cut simply because I was defenseless…I dreamed of the night when Rylie was forced to hold me down as they scarred my face with ink and acidic poison. I dreamed of the Harrowing that I almost did not survive.

"We should talk to her." Rylie broke my reverie on atrocity, drawing me from memories of hell with her cherished voice. "Look at these people, Kes. They're terrified of the Left Hand, the secret-keeper of Most Holy, the one who drowns in blood so that the Divine's hands remain unsullied. Just…watch."

I did as Rylie suggested, watching Leliana ride through the crowd. Whenever she drew near another rider, they guided their horse away. No gazes turned in her direction. There were no words of greeting given to her. A cloud of silence surrounded her, and she remained quiet within it. That was not the Leliana I remembered. That was not the woman who had given me strength to go on, who had saved my life a thousand times over...the woman to whom I gave my greatest secret first, because I knew she could be trusted.

"She must feel so isolated...and despised." I spoke my thoughts aloud. "We know the burden Justinia has placed on her and Cassandra's shoulders. If an Inquisition is to come again, it will require someone capable of leading it…someone impartial, whose hands are not interlocked with those of Most Holy. Leliana knows what it is to carry the safety of the world on her shoulders. She is best qualified to find one who would spearhead such an endeavor."

"There were only two who were capable." Rylie murmured. "One of them in the wind, and the other…the other dead. I don't know…" Rylie's sentence broke, but I knew her well enough to finish it.

"I don't know how she did so either." I reached for Rylie's hand and squeezed it, holding to her strength and beauty. "You remember Amaranthine…after you recovered." In my mind I could see it perfectly; the angry scar that bisected my lover's upper body, from the top of her shoulder, between her breasts, to the curve of her hip bone. "You saw how much love they had for each other, then." I continued. "I could feel it when they stood in the same room. It is the same thing I feel when I am with you, sweet girl…as if all the world has been set aright, everything in its proper place. They were _meant_ to be."

"She had to have a reason." Rylie pulled me back to rest against her chest. "She always has a reason."

"I know." I turned my head and placed a kiss on my lover's cheek. "We'll speak to her when we make camp tonight. It's time for the silence to be broken, and let her know that…that she isn't alone. Not here. Not with us. We love her and I think…I think she needs to know that now, more than ever."

"I adore you, Kestrel Ariyah." Rylie whispered, her breath tickling my ear, sending shockwaves down my spine. "How's the pain, love? Did the ginger help?"

"Yes." I answered, smiling for her sake.

 _It helped, but not enough. This air, this heat, the fucking_ _ **humidity**_ _. It's so oppressive…as though breathing it is a death sentence._


	8. Chapter 8

**The Haunted River**

 **Leliana**

"Hammer down that stake!"

"Get a fire going now or we will not eat tonight!"

"My lady, there is a river nearby, we can provide seclusion should you wish to wash away the dust of the road."

All of these words smeared together, a cacophonic, blistering presence of _now_. I rode through the camp, listening to the rushing of the river, fed by the melting snow from the mountains. It was crystal and pristine. I remembered the taste of it in my mouth; the feel of it against my skin. I remembered this place, tainted and dark, a place that still haunted my dreams.

 _She was so young…lost everything…another failure…another death…more blood on my hands. Blood. It seems I am always surrounded by blood._

The sun fell behind the mountains, leaving us in the fiery orange of dusk. I watched Most Holy's servants flit and flutter about the camp, preparing Justinia's resting place for the night. I heard the templar's groans of relief as they removed their heavy armor and drew lots for nighttime watch. I smelled the fragrance of the ubiquitous stew that had become travel fare.

It reminded me of a disastrous meal, shared in the heat and throes of a thunderstorm. A terrifying mess of dandelion sludge and unripe wild onions. I recalled Morrigan hacking it up, Alistair's insistence that it tasted just as he remembered, my inability to stomach it, and…and Salem's stoic bearing as she finished her portion and thanked Alistair for the horrific mess of a meal.

The memory of that night brought a smile to my face. It was the beginnings of our time together, in an imperiled world, an uncertain future. It was the beginning of a great love…a love that awakened a selfish, jealous, angry god. A god, a Maker, that I could no longer believe in. Not after my love was taken from me…once by this god's envy…once by my hand.

I shook my head clear of those thoughts, whispered to an attendant that I would be near the river, should Most Holy have need of me. I walked away from the chaos of the camp, more memories flooding my mind. I knew that, soon, those that led the party would seek me out and ask for the swiftest route to Haven. I would tell them, for I knew where we were. I knew this land intimately…I knew where we now camped, for I had shared a fire and a meal here before and…and here I had betrayed my lover, and here I had…

 _No. Now is not the time to dwell upon the past. Now is not the time to lose yourself in the sorrow and bliss of the times that came before. Now is the time for us to rest and to prepare, for we shall reach Haven upon the morrow, and the Conclave shall begin a week from thence. Then, and only after then, will Justinia decide whether or not to enact the Inquisition._

I walked through the wood and sat beside the river, watching the water rush by me, remembering crossing it, holding to Salem's hand, guiding her through the current because she could not…she could not _see_.

 _All the things that she did for you, Leliana,_ the voice infiltrated my mind as it did more and more often these days. The voice of a vanquished ghost. The voice of a once lover…the voice of Marjolaine. _All of the blades and arrows. My poison. The blindness. The blood of a dragon. The torture of Cauthrien and Loghain. All of this she did for you and you repaid her with a knife in the side, up, through the ribs, just as I taught you, and into the lung. You did not kill her swiftly, Leliana. You gave her a slow, torturous end…to honor a god you no longer believe in, to follow a path you have now forsaken. Love is lost to you, for you are, as I predicted, so long ago…_ _ **Just. Like. Me.**_

I clenched my hand into a fist and rammed it into a nearby tree. The leather of my gloves protected me from breaking anything, or bruising, but I still felt the pain, and let it jar me into awareness. I walked down to the river's edge and removed my gloves. I reached into the water and splashed my face, washing away the sweat and dust of the road. I heard the crunch of leaves and twigs…

 _…a young woman…smart…more than she seemed…knowing that I was more than that as well. Her family took me in…we shared a meal and companionship…they fled the Blight…but it found them…the clash of swords…darkspawn…two dead…one wounded…I tried to save her…I staunched the blood…I was going to take her to Wynne but…but she saw her father and mother dead…she begged to die and I…I drew my knife across her throat…I held her as she bled out…and I realized then that…that Salem could have chosen such an end…that it could have been_ _ **her**_ _I killed and I…I knew then that I could not live without her…without her love that gave me life…a life I destroyed…_

"Leliana." I felt the touch of a cold hand on my cheek…colder than a human hand should be. "Leliana, come back."

I looked up into two pairs of eyes, one greener than the grasses of spring, one dark as the middle of night. Rylie and Kestrel…two women I had wronged. In my faith I had chosen them to help me, to aid me in the mission given to me by Divine Beatrix, then continued by Justinia. They suffered in Kirkwall…they nearly died so many times…they witnessed the horrors of the Right of Annulment.

I could see it in Rylie's gaze. Her spark was fading, dimmed. Her faith had been scorched in the fires. Not so long ago, I would have sought to rekindle it…but there was nothing now for me to believe in. Kestrel's eyes, bright as ever, were not as they seemed. One of them had been blinded…a decision I had made, something I had taken from her as I had taken Shira's life in this very place, ten…very long…years ago.

"Where were you just now?" Rylie sat down on an outcropping of rock, staring at me in expectation of an answer. "Because it certainly wasn't here."

"I…I have memories of this place." I replied, watching as the landscape shifted before my eyes in living memory. I did not want to go back to camp. Justinia's tent was pitched in the place where…the place where I chose to end a life I could have saved…because she _asked_. "None of them are pleasant. Haven is…different now."

"What do you mean?" Kestrel asked, sitting beside her lover, coughing lightly.

"Haven now truly represents its name." My voice trembled, but I allowed it. These two women had witnessed my sorrow and suffering. They had seen my tears. With them, I did not need to hide, but I also possessed no right to burden them with my grief. "It is a place where pilgrims come to seek healing, to touch the once resting place of Andraste, though her ashes are long gone. But Haven was not always such a place. When I first came here, the town had been overtaken by a cult who believed that the High Dragon that dwelt in the mountains was Andraste reborn. We found evidence of blood sacrifice. The entirety of the town attacked us…"

 _…a young boy rushes at Salem with a knife…my arrow is trained on him…I cannot kill a child…he cuts her…her sword plunges down…I lose a little of my love for her…an ignoble action, I think…a monstrous deed…a monstrous did I could not do…he might have killed her…would I have seen to his demise then?_

"Bloody hell." Rylie whistled. "The entire town?"

"The men. The women. The few children." I retreated into myself as I spoke to them. My heart ached within my chest, a maelstrom of torment from days gone by. "The trials of the temple were the worst." I heard my voice go hollow as I watched the memories play inside my mind like a drama of the Orlesian stage. "Salem was blind…she got hurt…so many times. She infuriated me, always rushing into battle, even blinded…I did not enter the temple of Andraste." I confessed. Many believed that I had walked through those hallowed halls; that I had seen the Ashes. I let them believe the lie, but I could not bear it on my conscience, not with my friends. "None of us did, save for Salem and…and her mabari. She alone walked through and faced the Gauntlet. She nearly died there, and was nearly judged unworthy…but when she thought of our love, when she thought of me…she was allowed to pass through. I, who had abandoned her. Who had hurt her. Who had wronged her in so many ways…" My voice faded to a whisper, "…as I have wronged you."

"That is why we are here, Leliana." Kestrel spoke, surprising me. She was the quieter of the two, but it worked in her favor for, when she spoke, all present _listened_. "Because you haven't truly spoken to us since we arrived at Val Royeaux from Kirkwall. I do not remember you visiting me while I recovered."

I hung my head in shame. "I feared that seeing the cause of your illness and pain would hinder your recovery, not aid in it."

"I needed my friend." Kestrel whispered, kneeling down beside me, holding my gaze. "I needed my friend who saved my life."

"I blinded you, Kestrel." I reminded her. "Because of me, because of what I told Bethany Hawke to do, your eyesight is forever ruined, forever compromised. Because of me, your lungs are…"

* * *

 _"The damage is permanent, my dear," Vivienne de Fer informs me, and behind her carefully constructed shield I see a touch of compassion. "The poor little mage will suffer from it. Over-exertion will certainly lead to illness. Fluid will be more likely to settle in her lungs and they will not be strong enough to eject it. She will_ _ **never**_ _wield a sword again, and I imagine that magic will be an undertaking devastating to her health as well. The scarring is severe, Left Hand, and, though I've not told her, or her…rather feisty…lover, it is not likely that she shall see the world ten years from hence."_

* * *

"Because of you, Leliana," Kestrel whispered, "I was in a position to save twenty-four innocent lives. That would never have happened if I was not in the Gallows. Rylie and I saved many souls that day, and if you had not asked us to be there, and to help you, it would have been more a massacre than it was."

"But I have…"

"Look." Rylie joined Kestrel on her knees, in front of me. "So many things have gone wrong, but you don't seem to see that we are in the same place as you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding the templar.

"We both loved Kathyra, too." Rylie spoke and when I looked at Kestrel, I saw tears slipping down one side of her face, from her working eye. "We still mourn her loss. We both don't have family, or really any friends. We have nothing, except each other…and _you_." She stressed the pronoun, her eyes locked with mine. "But we're not quite certain that you know that you have _us_ , too."

"I still do not…"

"Leliana," Kestrel drew my attention. "What Rylie is trying to say, what I believe you need to hear, is this. We know who you must be to all of those back at the camp. We know that you have a face to present, a station to embody. But, you are not alone. You have friends. You have us. And we forgive you."

 _What?_ My mind reeled. I remembered the last time I had heard those words…they were not said as such, but that was how they were meant.

 _Salem smiles at me…my knife is in her body…she is bleeding…she is smiling…"A thousand times, dear heart."_

 _A thousand times…forgiveness I do not deserve, just as I do not deserve what these two, my sisters in trial and suffering, offer me now._

"I do not deserve your forgiveness." I told them.

"Maybe not." Rylie shrugged, a bit of her old spark returning. "But we're giving it to you anyway. Just accept it, and know that you're not alone here. Except that now we're going to leave you alone, because you look like you need some time to think."

Rylie got to her feet, helped Kestrel stand, and they departed. My mind was awhirl with thoughts, past and present intertwining and colliding. I slumped into a sit, leaning against the tree, listening to the music of the river. I did not want to return to the camp, to watch that hell again, to relive that night. I closed my eyes, knowing that I would dream of it, regardless of what I desired.

I decided to sleep here, beside the river. I did not want to be found, or seen, or heard. Not for the first time, I departed into slumber with the salt of tears on my face. My friends, my sisters, offered me forgiveness. I did not deserve it, but I desired to accept it…so very, very much. However, my heart would not allow it. I could not confide in them as they wished me to. I could not accept their help.

The blood that stained this land as proof, the nightmare that haunted me still, all stood as a pillar of evidence. To love me was to die…sometimes, at my own hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Korcari Wilds**

 **Salem**

The firelight flickered and danced. A chorus of crickets kept me company in the dim scarlet hues of sunset. I watched the flames as they consumed the wood beneath them, taking from life to breathe, drawing strength from what they destroyed. I sat before the crackling fire, watching the varying hues of the light cast from it dance along the reflective edge of the blade I held.

It was the knife Leliana used against me in Kirkwall; the wound she gave me that was meant to be mortal…I wondered if Leliana knew that I lived, or if she believed me dead. I let the thought fade away. It was futile to entertain it. I knew what she believed. She thought me dead, gone from this world for the third time. I remembered the look in her eyes; the radiant pain and fathomless blue. The hurt and the shock and the wonder and the awe and the…the hatred.

 _Was it hatred of me?_ I let my thoughts drift into the nothingness that surrounded me, let the whispers of the wind carry them away. _Or was it hatred of the situation, the uncrossable chasm between us…two once-lovers, divided by death, perhaps unable to come together again…no. No. I will not believe that. I will not believe that for I can feel the part of my soul that is missing…the part that lies within her._

It had been seven days since Flemeth stood here, in the place where we first met. Since that day, my mind had been awhirl, thinking. My dreaming had darkened, bathed in shades of crimson, drowning in memories, sacrosanct and sorrowful. She was returning to Haven. She was returning to the place that I cursed, that I swore I would never return to. My blood paved the way through the Temple of Andraste, and no one knew, nor did they care. They did not care that my soul was ripped apart in that place, that I nearly took my own life, that I nearly died at the hands of flames of purification that judge me unworthy.

No one knew the history. It simply stood as a monument of the woman revered and worshipped throughout Thedas. Those who went there journeyed to that place so that they could take from the beauty, grandeur, and holiness of it. They never knew of the evil that dwelled there, the taint that perverted that ground. They would never understood the blood it took to purge that madness; the near death that granted access to the holy.

I hung my head. I wanted to keep my promise. Selfishly, I did not wish to return to Haven, but the knife in my hand told me that I must. The steel screamed at me, my blood cried out from afar…the other side of my soul whispered a silent, delicate entreaty. I had a promise to keep, and at the end of all days, I was a woman of my word.

* * *

 _Leliana's tears salt my shoulder. She folds her body into my own. We have just made love, for the final time. My Calling is here, ringing in my ears, and tomorrow I will go, as all Grey Wardens do, to their death. I feel my lover's tears. I feel her trembling with the aftermath of pleasure and with the beginnings of grief. I hold her close to me, cradling her against the approaching sunrise. For the first time in our lives, the darkness is our friend. Its fading is our enemy._

 _I do not want to let her go. I never want to leave this moment, this embrace, but I must. I must go before I become a madwoman, a burden, and something that Leliana will no longer recognize as having been her lover. I cannot do such a thing to her. I have hurt her so much…enough for a thousand lifetimes. How she forgives me every time is a mystery, a mystery that I am grateful for._

 _"Why do you cry, dear heart?" I whisper against her hair, ghosting a kiss across her cheek._

 _"Do you not know?" Leliana murmurs, but I can hear the bite in her tone, the gnashing of her teeth as she fights against the world._

 _"I know your tears." I pull her closer to me. "And these are tears of deeper sorrow than grief for a loss."_

 _She removes herself from my embrace, her blue eyes raking across mine like frost and flame intertwined. "Salem, you are…you are leaving me. This is not what is supposed to happen._ _ **I**_ _am the one who leaves._ _ **I**_ _am the one who flees and I do not know…I do not know how to lose you when it is not my_ _ **choice**_ _to do so!"_

 _"Leliana." Her breath catches in her throat and a sob rips forth. I pull her into my arms again, holding her as she trembles. "Leliana, you are not losing me. I may go in this form, in this shape that you know, in this face that you recognize. But I promise you, I vow to you as I swore on our wedding day, that wherever you are, there I shall be also."_

 _"How?" She asks, bewildered by the surety in my voice._

 _"In surety and in truth." I whisper, kissing the eyelids that flutter, begging for rest. "I will always be there for you. I will always be near you. Even in death, no harm will come to you while I am there."_

* * *

I stared at the blade for a moment more, before flipping it over in my hand and tucking it into its sheath. Those years ago, I made a promise. A promise that I would keep. Flemeth had granted me the key. She sought me out as a mortal would be forced to search out a mortal. I knew now. From the eyes of those divine, I was hidden. She had no need to know my choice.

I rose to my feet and returned to the hut. I would need rest for the journey. I had no horse, and the walk from the Korcari Wilds would take a great deal of time. However, it would be worth it…and it was not as if I had a choice. I made a promise, those years ago.

A promise I would keep.


End file.
